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Uncle LawrenceHad the college plantA hundred thirty-eight treesWhen he began his jobSpindly little thingsThe mayor called themVulnerable yet full of promisePerhaps for a philosopherA seedling tree is the best answerFor human frailtyAnd the limits of our perfection.

Today those small signs of hopeHave grown to more thanOne thousand strongMore than even he envisagedMany of us have flourishedAlso in unexpected waysWatching from the windowHe is old and frailA spindly little thing himselfFolding in upon the promiseAnd yet he still commands respectAs he imploresFor the trees – and all our dreamsKeep them growingAnd replace them as they die.

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When normal couplesGo on vacationThe waiters don’t have shifty eyesInternational drug rings don’t happenTo be using the same hotelAn evil genius isn’t living up on the hillInstalling a giant laser gun capable of Melting the UN buildingThey don’t get run off the roadBy short foreign guys on mopedsOr locked in the basement in a skimpy bathrobeWhen all they wanted was a pint of Ben and JerrysThey don’t get shot at with poison dartsOr find boa constrictors in their bedsThe guy from the embassy really is who he says he isAnd none of the relics in the local museumGlow mysteriously in the darkOr cause one to levitateThere are no NazisNo MafiaNo monksNo mad scientistsNo ancient runesNo secret panelsNo digital countdown clocksNo explosionsNothing.

Just the sun and the sandAnd a tall glass with an little umbrella in itIs that so much to ask?

This work can not be hurriedGo too quicklyAll you do isSurface workSnap a dubious vine or twoYou gain only temporary victoryThe deeper threat remainsInsidious Prepared once more to spreadIts sinewy embrace

I ask myself how oftenI have moved too fastBroken off a troubling shootTriumphantlyAll the while avoidingThe deeper workWhich only comesOn dirt-stained kneesAnd with great patience.